Even tough cookies crack
by theraincanttouchus
Summary: While in London, Damian visits to the house he and his mother used to live in, it doesn't end well. (triger warning for panic attack)


A/N: So, bad week, bad month, kinda good day, oh well. First of all, please know that I love preMorrison!Talia, now I some times always think about what if Damian hadn't died and Bruce got to stop Talia in time? And this is one of thos outcomes that aren't nice or anything, this is about a kid who was almost killed by his mother and goes back to where they ised to live.

I know, another Damian fic, what can I say? I love that kid.

There's a panic attack here so you've been warned, please stay safe, I hate panic attacks, and I don't want to make you have one n_n I don't know if this is how they all are it's just based in my personal experiences.

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London wasn't exactly Damian's favorite place in the world, too many memories. They were helping Knight and Squire with some rogue while they were in England for a charity ball, and the place gave Damian some sort of nostalgic feeling that he didn't like, in fact he actually loathed it. It wasn't fair, it wasn't even logic, after what happened between his mother and him he wasn't supposed to feel like this, she was almost out of the mental institution, and they talked from time to time, so why was he feeling so hollow inside?

His father wasn't there most of the time, either investigating the case or keeping up appearances outside in parties and other shallow activities. Drake was engulfed in his own things, not that it made any difference, and Grayson was busy with his circus.

He couldn't go out with Brown since she had finals this week, and was really stressed out and that left him alone with way too much free time to think, that's how he ended up here, he told himself that it was everyone else's fault, but he knew that wasn't true, he would've sneaked out to come here had they not left him alone.

"It's just for closure, nothing else" he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath before looking for the key in his pocket. He was in front of a large house outside London. It was stone made with a big front door. He opened it slowly trying to prevent his hand from trembling in the handle. He didn't succeed.

Damian entered, trying to turn on the light, not really expecting it to still work and startling when it did. The place was just like they'd left it, there was a thin layer of dust covering everything and but it was tidy otherwise.

He walked aimlessly around the living room stopping in front of the tv set, there was an old VHS there along with a collection of videos, he smiled sadly, shaking his head slightly. It took him a few minutes to collect himself before he could pick one of the tapes and put it in the VHS. He turned on the TV wishing with all his forces that it didn't work, it did, so he pressed play.

In the screen appeared the image of his mother, at least twelve years younger, dancing ballet in front of a multitude*. His grandfather was on a balcony and she looked happy, light and completely goddess like. It was one of his favorite videos when he was a child, his mother was gracious and beautiful, and he enjoyed watching her being happy, especially when they watched the videos together and she told her stories about them, like how this video was one of the few presentations in which Ra's had stayed during the entire play. She would usually wrap him in a side hug, one of the very rare physical demonstrations of love she gave, and he'd be allowed to snuggle into it.

He curled in the dusty sofa, all those memories flooding through his mind, and after a beautifully executed calypso he just couldn't take it anymore.

It wasn't fair, why did he have to pay for his parent's war? Why couldn't she just be there, fine and sane? Why did he have to live like this? He wanted his mother back. He wanted his father and all of the so called Batfamily to understand that his mother wasn't half as bad as they liked to portray her. She wasn't cold and heartless, she was caring and nice in her own way, she loved him. Right? All the mothers loved their sons.

Although not all mothers try to kill them. But she was sick, and as soon as she got better she'd love him again right? Everything would be fine… right?

He couldn't breathe and the dust wasn't helping, he was shaking and he could, very absentmindedly, feel his face grow hotter which made more obvious the feeling of cold tears rolling down his eyes, he felt suffocated, like the big room had shrunk to something smaller than Titus' house, all noises were registered by his ears as if he were under the water. He tried different methods of relaxation, especially deeply breathing, but the dust made it hard and the house made it worse. So he curled in himself wishing for everything to be over.

It took him thirty minutes to be able to breathe normally again, forty something for his heart to slow down to its normal rate, and an hour to stop crying. He felt trapped, in danger and all he wanted to do was to run away as far as he could, but he felt exhausted, too. He couldn't even move no matter how much he tried, not that he was trying that much.

So he stayed in the couch, even if it made it all worse.

It took his father another thirty minutes to find him. He opened the door and Damian involuntarily flinched at the sound. His father looked scared, as if Damian had been at the verge of dying or going crazy, he didn't care though, it didn't seem to matter, he just curled in himself tighter, uncontrollably sobbing.

This wasn't their house anymore. It was just a dusty building now.

He didn't remember that much, only a vague image of his father carrying him out of the house and into the car. Damian hadn't realized that, at some point, he'd taken the tape and was clutching to it until his father tried to pry it from him. He wasn't sure of what happened next, but he kept it on his hands the entire ride, and Bruce had some bruises the next day.

Someone, most likely his father, put him in his bed, tucking him in. But he didn't sleep that night, he just kept crying, not caring that anyone would hear him. He fell into unconsciousness around down, when the sun started to fight the darkness of the room and didn't wake up until noon, tape still pressed against his chest.

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So tell me what you think?

Thanks for reading. Love you


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